-need
by wordspank
Summary: a collection of klaroline common porn tropes
1. wide

**Author's Note:** Prompt #020: Fetish. This is more of an anthology - think non-chronological, with no sequence to follow, but all happening in a single universe. I'm not sure how often I'll update because tackling porn tropes is pretty hard work, but know that I have at least five parts going at the same time right now. Each part is shorter than most smut, so if you're looking for steamy smoky build-up I don't think you'll really find it here.

One last time: the prompt is FETISH. You have been warned.

* * *

1\. Wide

Spread, he tells her.

You see, it's their second time together. The first time was lovely; dirt and leaves and bark cutting into skin and all they ever saw or felt was the other person, and that was everything that they needed. It didn't feel like the end for him, but it took almost four years before they crossed paths again. Even then, it wasn't as peachy as he thought they'd left off with.

So fast forward to two more years of on-and-off again flirting and fleeting bouts of frustration, brushes of the arm and the waist, until the tension is at its utmost peak, and she suddenly decides that taking off her shirt is the best way to diffuse a delicate situation.

(She's right.)

It's different now. Well, granted that they're both now acquainted with one another's touch, but he's had too much time to reflect on all the things that he would do to her when he finally gets the opportunity to be with her again. And with all that time, the tendency to grow obsessed with doing something with/to/on someone can be insurmountably high.

He's not ashamed. He's just pent up, and as soon as the shirt comes off he lunges at her mouth, greedily, hungrily, kissing her hard and running a thumb over her breast, over her nipple, pushing her against his dining table. She shoves her skirt down and she's naked - god, she didn't wear knickers? - and she leans back with her devious little smile and her darkened lashes, waiting for him to enter her.

Klaus is about to, as soon as he tugs his cock out of his trousers and poises himself over her, but then she lets out this small gasp of anticipation as the head of it grazes her clit.

The desire flies down his spine at the sight of her biting her lip, and the _yes_ that follows after it.

He dips into her a bit, getting the end of his cock slick, and glides the slippery underside of it over her again, until she grits her teeth and balls her fists tight so she doesn't moan the house down.

Spread, he says. His voice is low and soft and he can't take his eyes off of her; he looks back up at her flushed and partly confused expression, his own eyes glazed over with something carnal in his blood. "Here," he demonstrates, and parts not only her thighs further, but the pretty pink outer lips of her cunt for good measure so the hood of her clit is raised. She's beautiful, so beautiful.

Caroline locks an elbow and follows his lead, her free hand smoothing down down down. She does as he instructs, her hand unsteady. "Oh," she frowns, watching him paint her increasing wetness over her clit faster. Her eyes are glassy with fascination; he supposes she hasn't done this before and might feel a bit depraved for it, but he assures her that it's hotter than anything he's imagined.

...Which she obviously believes, because she grows so wet that each trace of his cock is now as audible as the breath that leaves their lungs.

"Oh, shit," she sighs, and it sends a bolt of pleasure through him to hear her curse - he has to hear it again, so he speeds up, rubbing the slick head of his cock against her faster until her body curls forward and she groans his name into his mouth.

Klaus feels the coil of release tighten as he kisses her, not stopping. It's quite the sensation to feel her bucking against him, and her pleading look is what convinces him to finally ease into the heat of her trembling body.

There's actually just enough friction and slickness to get him off like this, but he wants to immortalize the moment; seal it away in his brain, the way she so enthusiastically presents herself to him and how the lust flickers in her blue eyes when she does it. Should someone damn him to eternal imprisonment the moment he steps out of her house, at least he'll bloody well have good things to think about.

He's about to ask her to spread for him again, but Caroline actually does it herself on her own accord- with _both_ hands, no less – and he nearly goes delirious with need, thrusting and pressing down on her tender flesh with an insistent thumb – and then he spills, with a profanity of his own panted into her ear.

She clings to him affectionately, letting him rest his head on her breast, in a bit of disbelief. _A little bit kinky,_ she says. He shakes his head.

Couldn't have happened soon enough, to be honest.


	2. nobody will see

2\. Nobody Will See

Sometimes people just grow out of things, you know? Especially clubbing. Or partying at frat houses. Or even networking events. It's so much easier to just bring a bottle to a friend's place and wobble drunkenly to their terrifyingly trendy Spotify playlist, and that's what Caroline feels like when she's at some shindig her wealthy-by-marriage colleague invited her to. There's too many people, and so little desire to truly connect.

The only upsides to the whole thing are the free booze, the ridiculously large mansion that houses the bottles, and Klaus, whom she's brought along to share her misery with.

"We should go exploring," he suggests, eyeing the staircases that lead to the other levels of the house. "Far more engaging than smiling at things that don't smile back."

"They're my colleagues," she whispers harshly, but doesn't fight it when he takes her hand and pulls her to uncharted territory. They end up in a large room with nothing but a narrow, cluttered walk-in wardrobe, and sliding glass panels that cordon off a rather small balcony overlooking the pool. Doesn't look like anyone's really using the space for anything.

Caroline peers over the railing and see the heads of all the other guests down below, clusters of them gathered by the water. "Do you like swimming?" she asks, her hair shifting with the breeze.

"No," the reply caresses the back of her ear, and her eyes widen because he doesn't give one fig about small talk and has no intention of keeping it up. She knows that voice. It's a long, low note of _I would like to touch you here and now_ that runs down her body, like the wandering hand searching for warmth, for heat.

Her instinct is to bat it away, don't do it, this isn't the right place for this. Anyone who decides to take a look at how blue the sky is today will catch sight of their indiscretion, but his reckless demand of her is an ego-stroke too good to ignore, so she lets his curious fingers lift the back of her skirt up and smooth over her ass like it's no big deal.

Her heartbeat says it is.

He's thick against her, and he's impatient - until Klaus suddenly grabs and whisks her away into the wardrobe with his hand clapped over her mouth, pulling the slatted door shut. There's a clatter of hangers from the knock of their arms, but Caroline catches them quickly to stop their commotion.

 _Nostalgic_. Except that he wasn't sporting a hardon, and they weren't trapped in someone else's giant closet.

It sounds like the weight of stacked heels thudding about on other side of the door.

 _Shh._ Caroline tenses up, turning her head to try and look up at him, but he squeezes her tight to keep her still.

They hear more movement - a creak followed by a heavier thump.

She wiggles her chin out of his palm to whisper. "We should leave." In fact, they should be fleeing fast as they can, no compulsion needed. Just kick the door open and speed home so she can cringe about this over dinner a decade later.

Klaus shifts behind her to check - he's still hard (harder?), and she doesn't exactly know how to respond to it. "We should stay put."

To punctuate his point, his hand drifts from her waist down to where her skirt has ridden up. Of course, having someone else in the other room isn't going to stop Klaus, so she clamps her thighs shut for good measure, paranoia of the tuneless humming closing in on them fueling her willpower to maintain what little decency they have left in this house-

"Fine," he submits, releasing her. They straighten up, and she takes a second to marvel just how large the walk-in really is; they fit an ottoman in the middle of it and there's still room to strut around.

It's one second to long to be caught off guard.

He moves them all the way in, careful not to smack the her back of her head against the wall. He's so quick that she already feels his mouth on her neck, pressed to her thundering pulse as one hand rests in the small of her back and the other palm nestles between her legs.

Thanks, body, for fucking giving her away.

"Klaus," she warns in a whisper. She can't decide which option is better; being pissed off by his stubbornness, or pressing his head down. (Because when he pulls back, his mouth is that dark plum, and all she can think about is how good it feels when he uses it to get her off.) "This is a bad idea."

"Really?" he pulls back and tips his head, searching her face. "Is it?"

The scrap of her panties shift and god - he touches her, outer to inner fold, featherlight, gentle, and she's so wet that when his finger finally moves into her there's _no_ _resistance_. She bites down on her lower lip so she doesn't make a sound, but _that's_ a bad idea because her pleasure has nowhere to go except everywhere else.

She's soaked, and she hates him because now, she wants to chase it.

"Yes," Caroline hisses, sliding her hands up his chest. "It is." There's going to be murder later. _Later._

Klaus drags his finger out and presses two back in, and it hits her in a place that makes her ache so hard that she stops talking altogether.

Alright, she gives up, whatever. Caroline sucks his bottom lip into her mouth and arches into him, to which he responds with a low rumble in his throat and the audible rip of her underwear.

She doesn't even flinch. Instead, her little suppressed moans of desire drives him even wilder; he grazes his thumb over the slick nerve-rich flesh of her clit mercilessly until his palm is streaked with her heat.

Her hybrid breathes heavily into the hollow of her collarbone, drunk off her pleasure, fingers curling. There will be murder, but there will most definitely be sex first.

"Come quietly, sweetheart," he whispers, and she frowns, part annoyed and incredulous at his teasing grin as he swirls and swirls her into completion, until she's gritting her teeth and her thighs are shaking. Caroline can't let it out vocally, so she bites down on his shoulder and pants through it, her hands gripping the lapels of his blazer so hard that she still feels her nails in her palm.

The grind of his erection against her hip draws the groan from him.

"Is someone there?"

Chest heaving, Caroline lifts her head, still drowning in endorphins. Her body feels weighted, but her head feels light. "Damn it."

Klaus pecks her on the cheek and withdraws. It's odd that he looks happy when she's yet to touch him. (There will be plenty of touching later too. Right before the fucking. And then the murder.)

The hem of her skirt falls back down just as the door swings open. Caroline looks around for her discarded undergarment, while Klaus takes wide strides to greet the woman who's caught them.

"Caroline," she mutters, startled. Looks at Klaus, then back at her. Wrinkles her nose at the draft that enters the space, carrying the scent of sex with it. "Oh."

"Yeah, hi," the vampire replies, picking up the torn fabric. She tucks it into her bra, and twists to wave at her colleague sheepishly, her flush another dead giveaway on what transpired. "Uh, yeah."

Her partner faces the intruder eye-to-eye, the spheres of his pupils adjusting rapidly. Damage control. "We were never here," he says with an amiable smile. "And recommend Caroline for a promotion."

"Klaus!"

He sucks the ends of his fingers clean, straightens his blazer, and holds an arm out for Caroline, who slowly accepts the crook of it.

"Sorry!" she blurts out uneasily. "See you Monday!"

It's fairly easy to slink out of the house after that. When the car doors slam, Caroline takes off her shoes and throws them in the back seat. "I'm going to kill you," she squeezes the steering wheel, already dying from embarrassment.

Klaus straps his seat belt on. "I'll make it up to you. Many times over," he promises.


End file.
